Pile High the Archive: Soul Smithing

A poem about repeated failures in sports - hold your head high, it will be alright!

Sensing the zeros do further much grief,
Ahead lies some value, a minor relief.
Suddenly harnessing range that’s still known -
Manage those winners, a Plymouth Rock shown.

Wishing our struggles would come to an end,
Certain that rumbling to mice shall not bend... 
Begging for morals, those visceral needs;
The saintly are patterned through excellent deeds. 

Exchanges quite proper embody their worst -
A milestone planet just savagely cursed!
A weakened paralysis ruptures our spleen?
Surrounded by young’uns, a herd that’s so mean...